“No.”
“Ten-twenty-three.” Skid, letting me know he’s arrived on scene. “Where’s he at?”
“I don’t know. Second level maybe. Be careful.”
Holding my breath, I listen for movement in the hall. The only sounds come from the rain tapping against the window and the distant wail of sirens. I leave my position behind the bed and go right to avoid approaching the door directly in case Kester fires through it. I sidle along the wall and pause at the dresser.
“Nick Kester!” I shout. “The police are out front! Drop your weapon! Do it now!”
No response.
I wonder if his wife is with him. If she’s somewhere in the house or sitting in a vehicle waiting for him.
I ain’t going to jail ’cause of you!
And I realize he knows I had nothing to do with his daughter’s death.…
Around me, the house is quiet. The silence unsettles me. Where’s Kester? Where’s Skid? My heart is pounding too hard. My hands are shaking. I edge around the dresser, set my left hand on the knob. A quick twist, and I swing open the door.
“Police!” I scream. “Drop the weapon! Get your hands up! Get on the fucking ground!”
A door slams somewhere downstairs. I can’t tell if it’s the front or the back. I don’t know if it’s Kester fleeing—or one of my own making entry.
“Skid!” I shout.
“I’m in the kitchen!” Skid’s voice sounds from downstairs.
“I’m upstairs!” I shout. “Where’s Kester?”
“Downstairs is clear!” shouts Glock, and another layer of relief goes through me.
Gripping my .38, I step into the hall. Skid bounds up the stairs, pistol leading the way. He makes eye contact with me and then enters the first bedroom. I pull open the hall closet, peer inside, find it empty. When I close it, Glock is coming down the hall.
“You okay, Chief?”
I jerk my head.
“Clear!” Skid exits the bedroom, nods at Glock, and then disappears into the bathroom.
I look at Glock and motion toward the remaining bedroom. “Let’s clear it.”
Nodding, his sidearm leading the way, he enters the room. I follow. While he checks the closet, I drop and look under the bed.
“Clear,” he says as he emerges.
He looks at me closely as he holsters his weapon. I see his eyes fall upon the bassinet. He stares at it a moment, then looks away as if realizing he’s intruded upon my private domain.
“Fucker’s gone.” Ducking his head slightly, Glock speaks into his lapel mike. “House is clear. Suspect at large.”
Skid stands at the door. He’s also noticed the bassinet. He’s not quite as good as Glock at concealing his surprise, but he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
I start toward the door. “You call Wayne County?”
Skid steps aside as I shoulder past. “They’re setting up a perimeter now.”
I look at Glock. “See if someone can get a K-nine Unit out here.”
Nodding, he tilts his head and speaks into his shoulder mike. I start down the hall. My stride falters when I notice the hole in the drywall. Specks of plaster on the hardwood floor.
“Son of a bitch wasn’t messing around, was he?” comes Skid’s voice from behind me.
I stave off a chill, but I don’t do a very good job of ignoring the little voice whispering in my ear: That could have been you.
“We need to find him,” I hear myself say. “Pull out all the stops.” I make eye contact with Glock. “You notify SHP?”
“Holmes County, too,” he says. “BOLO is still active.”
My arms and legs are beginning to shake in earnest, so I keep moving down the hall. “He could still be on the property.”
“I’ll round up some guys and take a look around,” Glock says.
“Those woods in the back are thick as hell,” Skid puts in.
“Kester’s got to have a vehicle somewhere nearby,” I say.
“If there is, we’ll find it,” Glock tells me.
“Unless he already got to it and left,” Skid puts in.
“You see anything when you pulled up?” I ask.
“No, but there are plenty of places to pull off the road and use trees for cover.” Skid shakes his head. “Fuckin’ meth heads can move pretty fast when you put a cop in the picture.”
Glock and I chuckle, and I feel myself settling down, falling into cop mode, a frame of mind I’m much more comfortable with than traumatized homeowner. Or pregnant female who’s just been shot at by an armed intruder.
I glance over my shoulder at Glock. “We need to get someone out to Paula Kester’s father’s house. Carl Shellenberger. Take a deputy with you. And wear your vest.”
Touching the brim of his hat as he passes me, he jogs down the hall and disappears down the stairs.
Skid and I follow. At the base of the stairs, I glance right to see a deputy kneeling next to the cell phone I tossed at Kester. He rises upon spotting me. “You okay, Chief?”
“Yup.” I start toward my phone but realize it’s probably evidence and may have Kester’s DNA on it. “You contact BCI?” I ask the deputy.